Bcoz Of U: A 3 in 1 Love Story
by cheskie
Summary: Three famous WWE pairings. One vintage red Beetle. See the connection to find out!
1. Prologue

**Hey hey hey! It's mwah again, typing of the best story idea I've ever got! (okay, I admit…it's a parody from a local movie here!) So if anybody objects, please be nice and don't flame me! Just give me a chance to finish this! Pweeeezz?**

**Oh, and for my other story OUTSIDE THE ROPES, I have to remove it due to lack of inspiration. Sorry guyz… Just read this one first and tell me if this suckz. :D**

**I give you my 3-in-1 love story, Because of You! (inspired by Keith Martin's latest single!) Read and review!**

…

**PROLOGUE**

_(Three years ago…)_

"Is it right to sell this car?" Stephanie McMahon asked.

Chris Jericho drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of his red 1975 Volkswagen Beetle as he drove through the main roads. Both of them were quiet, just listening to some music, until this happened. He cast a confused look on his fiancée, surprised by her sudden question.

"Of course," Jericho replied, running his hand on his thick blonde hair. "Am I making a mistake?"

Stephanie shrugged. "I just want to know. It _is_ your decision."

Jericho played with his retainers using his mouth, smirking the whole while. It only seemed like yesterday when he proposed; now he and Stephanie have been engaged for a month now, and within a week, they will finally be married. He cast another glance on Stephanie, watching her tuck her brown hair behind her ears, noticing the rock on her engagement finger sparkling in the sunlight as she sunk in the passenger seat and crossed her legs, looking out at the window.

Looking at her now, Jericho felt he must be the luckiest man in the world.

"So…what did your parents say?" Stephanie asked him again.

This time Jericho barely flinched. "That selling the car was a good idea for more money. My parents said that this was definitely a sacrificial state for me. And besides, we really need more loot to spend for our wedding. After that, things will finally be in smooth sailing. Isn't that great?"

Stephanie smiled at him. "Now that I think about it, it is a great idea."

Jericho grinned excitedly, winking at Stephanie as he stepped on the gas pedal, speeding the car off to their destination.

…

_(The Wedding Day)_

Soft organ music played in the church of St. Pond's, decorated with all the white laces draping over white heart-shaped cushioned chairs and the altar. A red velvet carpet went all the way to the entrance, while a giant bronze statue of a god was right behind the altar, huge muscular arms spreading like a majestic bird. Roman columns stood sturdy to support giant laces. Flower arrangements were decorated all around, the perfume of lilies and jasmines hanging in the air.

Visitors started filling in, naming family and relatives, and finally the bride and the groom's friends came, all of them still young and fresh out of college, building up the noise in the somehow peaceful church. The familiar faces included was a bridesmaid named Debra Wilson, a college buddy of Stephanie and Adam Copeland, Jericho's very best friend and the best man of this wedding.

The groom finally arrived, his shoulder length hair tied behind him, his white suit freshly washed and pressed from the smell, giving high-fives to all his friends and giving Adam a bear hug. After that, Jericho looked around the church, ready for the afternoon wedding. Everyone sat down in the chairs, looking as excited as he is.

What Jericho really felt excited about was his bride and his future wife, Stephanie McMahon, walking down the aisle in her most beautiful dress he had seen her model around before.

"Wonder where Steph is," Debra asked Adam. "Everyone's here."

"Must be in traffic," he answered.

Several minutes passed. Jericho started calling Stephanie on his cellphone as he wiped the sweat building on his forehead. Debra was doing the same and now she was getting worried. Adam, on the other hand, who offered to go to Stephanie's house, approached Jericho by the altar and shook his head, a look of dread on his face. Jericho scowled and dialed her number again.

But to no avail. No one even answered.

Nighttime. The flowers were already dead as soon as the sun dropped. Other visitors became impatient and started going home while others still refused to leave. With a sigh, Jericho clicked off his phone just when the priest walked towards him and tapped his watch.

"You have to tell them, son," the priest urged him calmly.

Jericho only nodded mutely. As he walked to the altar, he felt eyes watching him go, some of their expressions angry, confused, or sympathetic. With a heavy heart, he took the microphone, announcing the words he never thought he would say on any wedding.

"The wedding will no longer be continued."

**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**

Jericho walked to his old Beetle, found that it was the only car in the parking lot of the church. He have waited for everyone to leave, kept saying to everyone that he will be alright about a hundred times until they're all satisfied and left him alone. He opened the car door and slammed it shut, ignoring the "JUST MARRIED" sign by the trunk and the tin cans strapped onto it as he leaned on the steering wheel, tears running down his smooth face.

Through wet eyes, he looked at the interior of his Beetle, remembering every detail before he'd even sell it. He loved this car to death; a lot of memories were stored in it along with the girl he only adored much. And now it made him think.

Sometimes, he wished the car had a life. Like it would see or hear or respond to everything that was happening. But it was mute, only witnessing events that are unknown to it.

"I wish the ones who'll own you will take good care of you," Jericho told the car in a shaky voice, wishing it would answer.

But it didn't.

**(t.b.c.)**

**Tell me what you guys think! Reviews pweeezz! Salamatski!**


	2. What We Really Feel: Part 1

**Thanx for reviewing, and even though it's gaya-gaya(translated to imitation), it's a great storyline. To my fellow kababayans, watch the movie! It's really great! Ahem, to the people who knows this, it's going to be Jericho and Steph as Kristine and Deither, Randy and Stacy as Heart and Geoff, and John and Torrie as Sandara and Hero! Yummerz...**

**And to the Jerichoholics, I'll have to focus for a while on where the car went and the one who owns it next. So, I'll push the continuation of the prologue to the end.**

**Meanwhile, this is Randy/Stacy fic. I'm sorry if it will suck; this is my first time experimenting both of them together, and I'll try my best for the story to become us fluffy and teenage as possible!**

**Part 1 up!**

…

**WHAT WE REALLY FEEL**

**Part 1 of 5**

BRRRIIIIING!

"Hello?"

"Stacy? Stacy, are you there?"

"Trish! Is that you?"

"Yes! This is so unbelievable!"

"What? What is it?"

"I'm officially dumping him! He's not calling me anymore at all!"

"Really, Trish. You ought to give this mystery guy of yours some space."

"I don't care! You just have to come over! Please?"

"All right. I'm coming."

Stacy Keibler clicked off her cellphone, threw it to the passenger seat and rolled down her windows without taking her eyes off the road. She was just driving around in some of the desolate roads, and then she took a turn to where East Coast Homes are, a subdivision built near the beaches. The temperature was rising every second of that summer afternoon, proven by the steaming of tar and the less people walking on the curbs. Usually she would have considered air-conditioners, but here car was a red 1975 version of the Volkswagen Beetle that she bought a year ago, and of course, it didn't have air-conditioners. A car was still a car, no matter what it looked like.

Sliding to a halt for a stoplight, Stacy took her time, getting a face towel and wiped it on her face down to her neck. Undoing a strap of her tank top, she wiped her shoulders as well and then she put it back up. Then she fished out a battery operated toy fan from her bag, tossed her long light blonde hair behind her and turned it on, feeling the air cooling a little. Then Stacy raised her other arm, letting the small fan air on her armpits.

Suddenly she heard a gentle laugh. Stacy sat up straighter, and then she wheeled around and gasped.

Another car positioned itself beside hers, surprisingly a red Beetle only in its latest version. The windows were also down, and behind the wheel was a handsome boy, almost to her age. Stacy frantically turned her fan off, fixed her pendant on her neck, tossed her hair, and looked at the stoplight. Still red.

Regaining her composure, Stacy held on to the steering wheel, feeling embarrassed. Through furtive glances, she noticed the boy was still looking at her, almost in a gawking manner. And then he smirked cockily. He revved his engine.

Stacy's mouth went into an _O_. Challenged, she revved her own engine.

The boy tilted his chin up in response. He revved his engine again, louder than his first try.

Stacy countered with a more louder revving than his. Using the element of surprise, she looked at the stoplight which now turned green. She stepped on the gas pedal hard, letting the car go off in full speed. She checked the rearview mirror. The other Beetle didn't move at all.

She smiled to herself. _Ha! That showed him!_

All of a sudden, her car made coughing noises. Panicked, Stacy kept on stepping on the gas, but the car kept slowing down, eventually stopping in the middle of an unknown road surrounded by tall grasses and reeds. Stacy hopped out of the car, seeing smoke rising from the trunk where the engine was.

"Oh my God…" Stacy whispered as soon as she opened it. More smoke came out.

She was about to get some water from the inside of her Beetle until another car roared past hers and parked towards the curb right in front of her. Stacy noticed that it was the same Beetle who challenged her earlier. She heard a door open and footsteps walking towards her.

"Is there a problem here, Miss?"

Stacy glanced up. The one talking to her right now was the cocky boy she revved engines with. He was quite good-looking, she noticed, that she felt mesmerized.

"By the way I'm Randy Orton," he said, holding up a hand for her to shake. "And…you are?"

Stacy didn't shake, still studying her engine. "Stacy Keibler."

"Stacy," he repeated. "So…Stacy, do you need a ride?"

"No, I'm okay. The engine just overheated. I just have to get some water and then I'll go."

Stacy brushed past Randy and climbed inside her car. Just when she was about to put the key in the ignition, Randy rested his hands on Stacy's open car window.

"Stacy, Beetles don't overheat because they don't have radiators," Randy told her.

Stacy gasped at the truth. Randy walked towards her trunk and she followed him, trying to stop him, but he was already opening the trunk. Smoke still spewed out, making Randy shake his head.

"I knew it," Randy said. "It's the wiring. I should call the towing services and get this over with." Randy was about to get his phone but Stacy grabbed his arm.

"I'm really okay," she insisted. "You really should go right now. I'll take care of this myself. Thanks for the offer anyway."

Randy had a blank expression on his face, until he shrugged. "Oh…all right. If you say so."

Stacy smiled at him, satisfied. She checked her trunk again when Randy went back to his Beetle. Then he spoke up again.

"You know, very few people go to this road. You're lucky you didn't go here at night. I heard some people get salvaged here or something. But I think you're gonna be all right on your own."

Stacy's eyes widen with panic.

"Then again, you said you can take care of yourself," he went on. "So I guess its nice meeting you. Bye Stacy! Good luck!"

Stacy didn't know what to do. She ought to say yes to his offer, but she barely knew this guy at all. But what was she to do? She looked at her car, then back at Randy, who was starting to get in on his car.

She swallowed. Might as well take the high dive.

"Errmm…Randy?"

Randy stopped, and then turned around. Stacy rubbed her palms on her denim miniskirt, then she stepped in front of him, her face extra sweet and innocent.

"What's the number of the towing service?"

…

'_Coz I remember boy, 'coz after we kissed, I could only think about your lips,_

_Yes I remember boy, the moment I knew you're the one I could spend my life with,_

_Even before all the fame and people screaming your name,_

_I was there, and you were my baby…_

"Wow! I love this song!" Stacy trilled, settling on the radio station she was listening to.

"Me too," Randy agreed. "Alicia Keys looks so damn fine on the video. I would love to be her boo."

Stacy laughed. "I guess she'd love to be yours too."

Randy only chuckled. Before the tow truck arrived, Stacy already started up a conversation with him while they sat down. She was quite a chatterbox, which made Randy feel easy to get along with her. He actually half-expected her to become paranoid, start whining or something. In short, shy away from him and shut herself out. But she didn't. Up until now, Randy was still in awe.

Now, driving his own Beetle to the direction of the nearest gasoline station with the tow truck carrying the other Beetle in front of them, he knew he made the right direction to help Stacy. He looked at the passenger seat, seeing her humming along with the radio, and felt his stomach fluttering with butterflies.

_Yup, definitely the right decision._

"Hey!" Stacy exclaimed. "We have the same keychain."

"Really?" Randy took his eyes off the road for a while to see his shiny black Anarchy keychain dangling from his ignition.

Stacy started pawing inside her body bag and found her keychain. She held it up for Randy to see. "Mine's red, but pretty much the same."

Randy nodded. "It is the same. Cool."

Silence reigned inside the car. For a minute.

"So, um, Stacy…are you a college graduate?" Randy asked.

"Yeah. I'm a major on architecture," Stacy answered. "I just got off from another interview."

"I would have taken architecture myself," Randy said dreamily. "But I had to take business management so I could help my mom with her job."

Stacy raised her brows. Impressed. He could tell. Then his phone rang. Randy excused himself and answered it.

"Hello? Wait a sec…just let me explain…how can you say that?"

By the words Stacy had heard, he knew that Randy was in a slime bucket. He could barely get a word in, and she could hear squawking noises from the earpiece of Randy's phone, whoever he was talking to. Then he hung up on his phone, a look of sadness flicking on his handsome face. Stacy thought he looked kind of awful looking so sad like that.

_It doesn't suit his looks_, she thought.

"Shit…" he said through his teeth.

"Friend of yours?" Stacy said dryly.

"You have no idea."

"Who was that?"

"A girl I was dating. She's been calling me for a million times now and I'm going to her house to fix everything up. It's…it's complicated to explain."

Stacy just dropped it, understanding him. "Don't worry. Time heals."

When they reached the gas station, the tow truck let Stacy's Beetle into the repair section for a look. Randy's car skidded to a stop next to the unleaded gas pumps. He opened his car door, his other foot planted firmly on the ground.

"I'm just gonna get some gas and get my engine checked," Randy said to Stacy, who only shrugged in reply.

Randy got out of the car and closed the door. Stacy leaned in the warm leather cover of the passenger seat, relaxing, watching Randy checking his engine from the windshield. And that was when she got a closer look at him.

His hair was brown, styled in short spikes. The eyebrows were perfectly sculpted, and under those were his eyes, visibly clear and blue, making the rest of his features prominently sharp. He was really tall and muscular, possibly a bodybuilder, his skin was evenly tanned, and his strong arms both had tattoos peeking out from his Polo shirt. His mouth would do too, if he really smiled, he'd be showing off straight white teeth. He's better-looking up close.

Stacy smiled a little. Randy Orton definitely was a sight.

_God…he's so cute._

Until her cellphone vibrated, another text message from Trish obviously. Stacy sighed, the moment shattered, as she opened and read the message.

…

"Do you want your windows cleaned, sir?" the gasoline boy asked.

"Randy shook his head politely. "Please. Don't."

The gasoline boy nodded and walked off. Randy continued to fill his tank, and being a good boy on the road, he always fills his car with unleaded gasoline. He ran a hand on his hair and looked at the windshield of his Beetle. Stacy was still there, leaning on her seat, fussing with her cellphone. Right at that moment, he started to check her out.

She let her long blonde hair loose in a wavy style, settling right onto her creamy shoulders. Her face barely had traces of make-up; just powder, mascara and lip gloss, the natural look suiting her perfectly, and a silver pendant necklace hung loose on her throat. With her long slender legs, lean frame, soft blonde hair and attractive face, she could probably beat all the other gorgeous models ever to grace the planet.

Randy grinned. _She looks really nice. _

Stacy Keibler really fascinates him big time. He didn't know why, though.

When he was finished, he went to the passenger window, an action that made Stacy look up from her phone.

"You wanna go get something to eat?" Randy offered. "McDonald's is only a walking distance from the gasoline station. My treat."

Stacy seemed pleased, smiling widely, her pretty face shining, and Randy felt those damn butterflies fluttering again.

"Sure. I'd love to eat."

…

"Order up," the cashier declared. "That's two root beers, two large fries, a Big Mac and a Quarter Pounder with cheese meals."

The cashier pushed the full tray of food across the counter to Randy. He reached for the tray and walked to the table where Stacy sits patiently, careful in not spilling anything and look stupid in front of her.

"Here's your order, ma'am," Randy joked as he set the tray down on the table and sat across Stacy. "A Quarter Pounder, just as I promised."

Stacy gave him a little applause. "Whoopee."

Randy felt himself smiling from ear-to-ear. She was just so adorable. He took the Big Mac for himself and opened the sachets of ketchup, spurting it right to the papered tray. He heard paper rustling and knew Stacy was already starting to eat her burger as he combined all the fries on the same tray so they could share. After punching straws to the sodas, he finally looked up, startled to see Stacy already crumpling the paper of her burger, munching continuously.

"You're done!" Randy said incredulously.

Stacy nodded and smiled. "Yes. It's very delicious."

Randy just shrugged and took a bite out his burger, watching Stacy beginning on the fries.

_Talk about natural._

…

After the meal, Randy and Stacy walked back to the gasoline station, both full and happy. Stacy already told Randy about a thousand thank yous, and Randy accepted it all with the warmest consent. Of all the hours that they've been together, it seemed like the both of them found it easy to get along with the other.

"You want some coffee, Stace?" Randy asked as he tossed his keychain up and down in one hand. "Starbucks is just a hundred steps away."

Stacy lowered her eyes, a sweep of lashes against pink skin. "Nah. Not right now."

Randy bunched his brows. "Not-right-now-you-don't-want-to or not-right-now-you-don't-want-me-to-treat-you-anymore?"

"I really don't want to spend a hundred bucks over a cup of coffee," she reasoned. "There're a lot of Quarter Pounders to eat around here."

Randy only shrugged and continued to play with his keychain.

"No offense, Randy," Stacy said quickly. "I'm just being practical."

"It's not really in the matter of whether you're rich or poor," said Randy. "But I don't mind. You have money and you don't let yourself go. I like that."

Stacy grinned. "It seems by the way you look, you're the typical ladies' man. You like to treat people a lot."

Randy stopped walking, impressed with her on how she could get through people so easily, and before he could open his mouth, Stacy walked ahead of him to his Beetle. For a moment he just watched her walk, taking long legged strides on the pavement. Then she turned her head back at him.

"Let's go." Stacy suggested.

Randy managed to nod and tossed his keychain again. Suddenly, it missed his hands and it was about to fall on the vented manhole in front of him. Both of them gasping, Stacy immediately rushed to help just when Randy bent forward and caught the keychain in his hands. It was already fine when Stacy tripped in her heels and accidentally pushed Randy to the ground, causing him to let go of his keychain, dropping on the open vent of the manhole.

When Randy opened his eyes, Stacy was on top of him. Her body was as light as a feather, he thought, her slim body on top of his broad muscular one. They both scrambled to sit back up, both of them on either sides of the manhole. Stacy's face was flushed red, and Randy couldn't keep from blushing either.

Then he looked down on the dark manhole, then back at Stacy again, with an equally terrified look.

_Now what?_

…

"Ooooh…where is it?" Stacy muttered under her breath as she moved the wire left to right on the vented manhole.

Randy checked his watch lazily and sighed. Both of them are still sitting down across each other on the ground beside the manhole. He promised to pay one of the gasoline boys to look for it after explaining the situation, but Stacy insisted that she'll look for it herself since it was her fault, not listening to Randy's countless reasons that the whole thing was just an accident.

Imagine that. She's been doing that for an hour now and she's still not giving up.

"Look, Stacy, just give it up," Randy reminded her. "It's not like those stooges aren't gonna find it. This already happened before."

Stacy shot him a disbelieving look. "Randy, I just lost your keychain. It's my fault!"

"It's just an accident," Randy said for the nth time. "But I know what we should do. Let's just get some coffee."

Stacy fiddled with the wire she was holding, not looking at him.

"Come on, Stace. Please? You've got to be bored doing that," Randy wheedled. "I promise I'll buy the ones costing about 10 dollars."

Upon hearing those words, Stacy smiled and shrugged. "Coffee sounds good."

…

"I'm sorry you had to be stuck here with me," Randy said apologetically. "It's already 8:00 pm and you're still not going home."

Stacy stirred her coffee cup as they both leaned on the outside of Randy's Beetle. The gasoline boys still haven't found his keychain even though darkness has already fallen above them. They were only drinking coffee and chatting, not caring about the time they were wasting.

"I don't mind, and it's not a big deal," Stacy said after finishing the last of her coffee. "You did help me, so I won't leave you here all alone."

Randy also finished his coffee, throwing it right to the bushes they were near at. He looked at her intently. "Funny story. Strange things have already happened when we met."

Stacy also looked at him, listening.

"When we met, it's like we're nothing but stranded," he went on. "It's like we're destined to be stuck. Our cars are both red Beetles, we like the same song; we even have the same keychain. Didn't that make you think? It's really weird."

"Yeah. Weird…" Stacy agreed. "I guess great minds do think alike."

They smiled at each other, gazes locked in silent understanding.

Finally, the gasoline boy approached them, panting heavily. "Here's your keychain, sir."

Randy took the keychain and smelled it, making Stacy giggle at his side. Then he fished out a hundred dollars from his jeans pocket and gave it to him. "Don't go spoiling it," he told him.

When the gasoline boy walked off joyfully, Stacy applauded him again. "That's really generous of you, Randy. Real good behavior."

Randy reddened and tossed his keychain up and down his hand again. "Shall we go?"

"Of course."

With that, they exited the gasoline station, Randy driving his Beetle and giving Stacy a ride since her car wasn't really fixed yet. Then he ultimately forgotten something; he didn't know where to take her.

"Where can I drop you off, Stacy?"

"I'm going to East Coast Homes."

"Really? I'm going there too! What house number are you going to?"

"Thirty!"

The smile suddenly died on Randy's face. Stacy looked at him strangely.

"Is something wrong, Randy?"

"Is that a one-three or a three-zero?" Randy asked her, looking as if he was hoping he'd misheard it.

Now Stacy really was confused. "Three-zero."

And then the same thought came into full force in their minds at the same time. Unable to hold it any longer, they both said it aloud.

"At Trish's!"

It was official. Both of them are even going to the same house.

**(t.b.c.)**


	3. What We Really Feel: Part 2

**Here's part 2!**

…

**WHAT WE REALLY FEEL**

**Part 2 of 5**

"You stupid asshole!" Trish exclaimed.

Randy winced. He was ready for this, but he didn't expect everything to turn this way. Before he opened his mouth, Trish went stepped down from the tall stoop of her house. Stacy immediately went to Trish's side before any violence will occur, but she couldn't even stop Trish herself.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I never wanted to see you again!" Trish demanded, facing him. "Didn't I tell you not to show up here anymore?"

"Trish, I'm here to apologize," Randy began. "We misunderstood each other."

"And you're the one who's saying that _I'm_ misunderstood!" Trish shrieked.

"It's not all my fault," Randy reasoned.

Trish crossed her arms and gave him a disdainful once-over. "Well…it's not my fault if you don't know how to commit in a relationship," she said in a much calmer voice.

Randy had a catch on his throat. He saw Stacy's reaction. She looked rather offended, the way she widened her eyes and the way her eyebrows were bunched. Then he looked back at Trish again.

"Trish…we don't have a commitment, right?" he said.

Trish's voice went up again in loud falsetto. "Oh…I have! You don't!" Then she pointed at the gate. "Get out!"

Now this was the part where Randy couldn't fight anymore. He looked at Stacy again, hoping for backup, but the tall blonde just looked away in an imaginary spot at the distance.

"I said get out!" Trish yelled again.

Doing the right thing, Randy turned away and left, closing the gate behind him, the final sound in his world.

…

"I'm gonna kill him!" Trish exclaimed as she chopped a potato.

Stacy sighed. It has been an hour since Randy left. She and Trish were in the kitchen; Trish planning to make mashed potatoes for dinner, but she was endlessly ranting about the whole breakup, and Stacy had a feeling that the potatoes won't be able to taste any good, much less look edible. Trish was so furious she didn't even ask how he and Stacy ended up going to there house together, to her relief.

Trish chopped another potato. "I hope he dies a slow and painful death!"

Stacy opened the refrigerator and took out a bottled ice tea. "What did he ever do to you, Trish?"

"He never did anything to take care of our relationship," Trish replied as she took out a ceramic bowl from the cabinet. "Like ask me out to dates, or call me from my phone to know if I'm still alive!"

Stacy drank the sugary tea. "First of all…is he really your boyfriend?"

"Of course!" Trish answered immediately. Then a pause. "He is."

"Oh…I see. You met him in a party, talked to him, and you think he's your boyfriend?" Stacy deduced.

Trish looked at her, offended. "Hello! Courting is, like, so old, you know that?"

"Well, hello to you too!" Stacy returned. "You already broke up with your so-called boyfriend that I haven't even met before."

Trish frowned as she set the potatoes in the bowl. "I don't even feel that I have a boyfriend."

Stacy drank her tea again, almost swallowing half the bottle. "So…how long have you and

Randy been dating?"

Trish knitted her brows in deep thought. "Two months."

Stacy rolled her eyes, confused. "What! Then why do you act like you're going to die?"

"Well…it hurts!" Trish said sarcastically. "What's wrong with you? And why are you interrogating me? What are you? His lawyer!"

Stacy shook her head. This is gonna be a long night.

…

The next day, Stacy went back to the gasoline station to get her Beetle back, but a bushy brown haired mechanic named Mick Foley immediately ushered her as soon as she got there.

"Ma'am, we still can't give your car back," Mick reasoned. "It's pretty old, and there are still a lot of broken parts, but I already called up your boyfriend to tell me what parts are needed."

Stacy's eyebrow went up. "What boyfriend?"

Mick pointed something behind Stacy with his bushy lips. Stacy turned around and saw Randy coming up to them. He approached Mick.

"Hey Mick," Randy greeted. Then he looked at the old Beetle. "Wow. You're really doing well on Stacy's car."

Mick puffed up, proud of himself. "Of course, sir."

"So what are the parts needed?" Randy asked.

Stacy immediately ran up to Randy and faced him. "Randy, please you really don't need to do this."

"Stacy, please don't turn down my help," Randy told her.

"But you really should—''

"Stacy…"

"I really think—''

"_No_."

Mick stifled his laughter. "Excuse me, kids. I have work to do." Then he walked off to Stacy's Beetle, laughing all the way.

"He isn't my boyfriend!" Stacy yelled at him.

Randy followed Mick. "So what are the parts needed, may I say?"

"I'm gonna give you a list to buy them so I'll be able to change some parts of this car," Mick answered. "Maybe take off some of them too,"

Stacy gasped and walked up to the car. "Nothing should be taken off to this car! This is still all right and running!"

Saying that, she rapped the part of the car loudly. Bad move though. All the outer parts went off with a clanging sound. Both Mick and Randy winced at every sound heard.

Stacy grinned at them apologetically. _Oops._

…

"You know it's really weird when we met, you know," Randy said to Stacy in an auto parts shop on the gasoline station. "Overly coincidental. Especially the time when we're going to Trish."

Stacy smiled weakly. "Yes."

Getting her new mug wheels from the cashier, she went past Randy and walked out of the shop, going to the repair section. Randy immediately followed her. Together they walked to the parking lot.

"Can you please talk to your friend for me?" Randy requested. "Maybe…there are some things that she's been saying to me behind my back right now."

"She has nothing to say," Stacy lied.

"Of course she does," he said. "Especially if it's not true."

Stacy looked up at him, holding her mug wheels tight to her chest. "Then what's the truth?"

Randy took a deep breath, then went on with his speech. "Alright. Trish and I went out a couple of times. Then she starts pining for demands. And then she breaks up with me when we're not even together!"

Stacy felt relieved. At least she knew he isn't lying; Randy looked way too innocent to be a liar.

"I admit I have a few wrongs, but…" Randy continued, then stopped, looking at something behind Stacy. Then his eyes widened and he gasped like a little girl. He ran past her. Stacy looked behind her, and saw Randy bearing down on his Beetle, looking down on a flat tire. She gasped.

_Great. What an unbelievable struck of luck._

…

"Are you all right, Randy?" Stacy asked.

Randy sighed, fiddling with the coffee straws. "A little."

Stacy smiled at him sympathetically. After that wacky incident, Stacy invited him to Starbucks for coffee. Randy went with her without a word, and he was now sitting across her. Stacy didn't know what else to do; she hoped this little deed will make him feel a little better.

_Or just to see his ultra-gorgeous smile once again._

Stacy mentally slapped herself. She didn't like the way her thoughts were going.

Then the waiter came with their cups of coffee. Randy took out his wallet, but Stacy grabbed his arm before he could do anything else.

"Don't worry. It's on me."

"But Stacy…"

"It's fine. Just let me treat you for once."

Randy drew back to his seat, relenting. Stacy paid to the waiter and poured some milk to his cup and then hers.

"At least we aren't drinking the ones on Styrofoam cups," she quipped as she took her wallet back to her bag. She drank a small sip.

Randy didn't touch his coffee; instead he leaned closer and looked at her intently. "Stacy…can I pick you up tomorrow?"

Stacy looked at him, confused. "Why?"

"You know, hang out. Like a date."

Stacy went blank. Randy continued to look at her, waiting for her answer. This is one thing she definitely did not expect. Randy grinned at her, and she felt as if she was going to melt. But there are drastic measures…and if it wasn't for that she would have said yes.

"Date?" she echoed. "Trish is my best friend, Randy."

Randy got her point. "Just because Trish is your friend…we can't see each other?"

"Please. I don't think we should," Stacy said politely.

Randy's smile died on his face, then he nodded and turned away, finally drinking his coffee. Again, Stacy felt bad, almost hating herself for seeing him so sad, but she knows she didn't do anything wrong. At least she turned him down in a polite manner.

_I'm such an idiot._

…

"Is there something wrong, Randall?" Elaine Orton told Randy that dinnertime.

Randy picked the peas on his plate. "There's this girl…"

Mrs. Orton smiled good-humoredly. "Oh boy. Here we go again."

"No, mom," Randy objected as he put his fork down. "Stacy is different."

"How different is this young lady?" she asked.

Randy rested his chin on his hands as he looked up dreamily from the chandelier above the dinner table. "She…she's got spark. Something I can't explain."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I don't want to hurt anyone…and I especially don't want to get hurt."

"Why are you already thinking about that?" Mrs. Orton asked him. "It's not like you're already falling for her, at least when you're not doing it on purpose."

She smiled at him, but Randy didn't feel happy when he was just being turned down. "Mom…are me and Dad alike?"

Mrs. Orton swallowed her food and then gave Randy a serious look. "No. Both of you are different. Actually…we're both alike. When we find the right person…there. We're loyal."

Randy finally smiled. All he knew that he was thanking all the gods that his mom didn't know.

_Maybe there's hope after all._

…

"I have an announcement to make!" Trish declared at the girls' slumber party that night. All the girls, including Stacy, looked up from the pillows strewn all over the floor as the petite blonde stood up and ran her hands on her flannel pajamas.

"I'm over Randy! I'm so over Randy, because I have a new boyfriend!" Trish announced joyfully.

"Oh whatever," Nidia muttered as she raked a hand on her brown hair.

"It's true!" Trish told them. "His name is Christian, and I met him on the online chat room last week!"

"Are you sure you're going to last?" Victoria asked her as she put makeup on Gail Kim's face. "I mean…you have dated a lot of guys and it didn't quite end well."

Everyone agreed, but Trish ignored the subject. "We're bound to last, and I just know it!"

Stacy chuckled from the girls' opinions until her cellphone rang. She stood up and walked away from the girls' and opened it. It was Randy calling her. She turned off her phone, suddenly feeling guilty, but she didn't go back to her spot on the floor next to the girls who were now trilling about Chad Michael Murray and making fun on how fat Hilary Duff was on the teen mags. Stacy just stood there, biting her lip, when Trish suddenly faced her.

"Hey Stacy," Trish acknowledged her. "What's up with you?"

"Umm…Trish," Stacy began nervously. "I have to tell you something."

"What is it?"

Stacy squeezed her eyes shut, ready for what to come. "Randy asked me out."

Trish looked at her askance. "What? Why?"

"What do you mean 'why'?" Stacy asked her.

Trish laughed quietly like a witch and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Stacy…my deepest sympathies to you. He's really such a scumbag. You take care of yourself."

With that, Trish walked away from her and back to the bed. Stacy went to her sleeping bag and just decided to sleep; wanting to dream of Randy, that cute face, wanting to believe that all of the things Trish said about him isn't true until it formed into a mantra in her head.

_Definitely not true._

…

When Stacy went to the repair section of the gasoline station, Randy was already there, his tall muscular form making him the biggest guy there as he was talking to Mick. She heard a few phrases from their conversation.

"The brakes need to be cleaned and the pads needed to be changed," Mick said to Randy.

Randy nodded. "Okay Mick. You know what to do."

Before anything else happened, Stacy began to walk away from the scene. Randy was the last person she wanted to see or talk to. Just when her steps reached about ten counts, he heard light footsteps coming behind her.

"Stacy? Is that you?"

Hearing her name called, Stacy looked behind her and immediately turned away. "Hi Randy."

"There are still a few parts needed to be fixed," Randy reminded her. "I was calling you last night to tell you."

_Oh, so that's what it's all about, _Stacy thought.

"Um…I'll take care of it myself. I really don't want you to become a burden anyway," Stacy blurted out without looking at him. She continued to walk, but Randy continued to follow her still.

"Shouldn't we fix what is broken?" Randy suggested.

Stacy stopped walking, then brushed past Randy and walked to her Beetle. "The car? Actually, I think I'll just sell it. I have too much to pay and it's not practical at all."

"Stacy, are you avoiding me?" Randy asked behind her.

Finally, Stacy faced him and finally made eye contact. The people around them were too busy to work; no one would dare to bother them at all.

"Look Randy…I just don't want anything messed up." she told him.

Randy raised his dark brows, obviously confused. "Why would anything be messed up?"

Stacy took in air, ready for her explanation. "Okay. We have a lot in common. But what's different about us is the _most important_. Like, wanting to commit a grown relationship?"

"I can try," Randy said. "I can try if you want. Like the old-fashioned courting style. I have to ask Trish since you don't want to talk me. She even told me you don't like getting coffee and—''

"Don't force yourself to do all the things if it's not you," Stacy interrupted softly.

"I can change," Randy pleaded. "Can't you at least give me a chance? Please?"

Stacy couldn't say anything anymore. Randy looked so sweet and pathetic…and he was begging her now. In fact, the more she ignored him, the more he won't give up. Stacy never really experienced this kind of thing; someone practically on his knees just to go out with him. And that _he_ was Randy. Shouldn't she be in awe right now, a totally handsome guy wanting to commit for her? That ought to be pretty touching.

She didn't know. Could not know. She looked at him one last time, that totally cute smile etching his gorgeous features, and felt her knees turn into jelly.

_Maybe I should give him a chance._

**(t.b.c.)**


	4. What We Really Feel: Part 3

**And finally Skittle made some contact with good 'ol me…hahaha…and I can't believe you read my bio…I'm definitely weird but straight-up tripping kind of gal…I don't even care what other peeps think of me because I'm gonna get my daddy The Undertaker to beat the hell out of them (LOL)…anyway read the latest chap of MISANTHROPE...like it or not things have finally gotten interesting with John and Torrie! **

**Anyway…I made this Randy/Stacy story a five-part special because I have so much fun making it…and I like to excite you guyz! For new readers and JOHN CENA fans who read this…check out my other fic MISANTHROPE...I promise you it'll rock your socks off!**

**On to the next chappie!**

…

**WHAT WE REALLY FEEL**

**Part 3 of 5**

_Stacy's mom has got it going on_

_She's all I want and I've waited for so long_

_Stacy can't you see you're just not the one for me_

_I know it might be wrong but I'm in love with Stacy's mom…_

Stacy cringed and turned the car radio off. "Ugh…I just hate that song."

Randy turned his eyes off the road for a while and chuckled beside her. "I don't. At least a band like Fountains of Wayne thinks so…"

Stacy couldn't keep from smiling. Randy was just so humorous.

Going back to the memory of the gasoline station, she ultimately decided to give Randy the chance to prove himself worthy of being committed, and he definitely kept his word. Trish actually never said anything nasty to her on what Randy was like when they were dating, but it seems like he was the most caring, the sweetest guy on the planet.

The past few weeks had run along so fast; it has been nothing but picnics of to-go orders of McDonald's, drinking coffee in fancy cups on Starbucks, sending sweet text messages to each other, and he even agreed to go to church with her just to pray. Stacy already introduced him to her parents in a quiet dinner a few nights ago and they already approved of him; the only mistake Randy made was that he gave a bunch of carnations to her father when she was only right there by his side. It was kind of cute seeing him all nervous like that.

Now, Randy was giving her a ride home from another date just finished. Yes, Stacy's own Beetle still wasn't fixed, but she didn't mind. With Randy there with her, just sitting down on the driver's seat only a few feet of distance…she never felt so giddy and perky her whole life. There was something in Randy that made her feel so special, so warm and getting her this fuzzy feeling grow even fuzzier inside her.

Randy's Beetle finally made a stop in front of her house. Before she could even open the passenger door, Randy hopped out and opened her car door himself, a gesture that made Stacy grin even wider.

_He is just so gentlemanly pointed out._

By the time they were both on the porch; the twosome faced each other, looking all bashful like kindergartners.

"Good night," Randy said.

For all the effort, Stacy decided to reward him by giving him a kiss. She leaned in to his right cheek…but lo behold, he was going for her left. She leaned to the left, but he was going for her right. Kinda like looking into a mirror or something, they both thought.

She laughed quietly. Gesturing a finger to the left and another one to the right, they kissed each others cheek. Simple, but very sweet.

"Good night," Stacy echoed shyly.

Randy smiled at her; the very same smile that always makes her go nonplussed. Then he finally walked away from her, went inside his Beetle, and drove it out of her driveway. She waved goodbyes at him when she could see nothing but his taillights.

"Yes!" Stacy tittered maddeningly. She felt so happy she wanted to dance.

And then she did. She started to dance around her porch. She continued to dance happily, not hearing the sound of a smooth thrum of an engine making its way back to the house's driveway.

"Hey Stace, you forgot your phone," Randy suddenly said behind her.

Stacy froze in her position; her arms thrown up in the air. She set it back down and took the phone out of Randy's hands, too embarrassed and refusing to look him in the eye.

"Good night," Randy said again, looking amused.

She only held a hand up, a smile frozen in her face, then she went inside the house, anything to end this humiliation.

When Randy walked back to his Beetle, drove it out of East Coast, and went back to the road home, he was heavily smirking and could not keep from feeling proud of himself. _I guess I've done a good job, _he thought.

_I think I'm beginning to like her._

…

"What are we doing here, Randy?" Stacy asked him.

Randy smiled to himself and kept just kept silent. He only invited her for a walk in the park, but unknown to anyone he prepared a surprise for Stacy; something she'll definitely like, and it will be happening tonight. He looked at the Rolex on his wrist. A few minutes to go.

"You're acting like a crazy person," she notified him. "What's going on?"

He grinned even more. "You'll find out soon."

They were both leaning against the hood of Randy's Beetle, when a loud sound of engines were heard on the road laying out before them. "Oh, they're finally here," Randy said to Stacy.

Stacy gasped as the picture became clearer. There were not one—not two—not even ten—but _twenty_ 1975 Beetles were sliding onto the road, all in different colors ranging from baby blue to neon orange; to light pink and metallic silver. She placed her hands over her mouth in total amazement. She has not seen so many Beetles her whole life! She took a few steps forward to take a closer, gawking happily at the Beetles making its way to the park's parking lot.

Randy crept up beside her to watch, a suave smile on his features. He knew from the start that Stacy will like his little present, but she didn't look like she liked it—she looked like she _loved_ it. And knowing Stacy, being simple and practical is definitely enough.

Stacy, on the other hand, was so happy that she couldn't control herself—tiptoeing on her heels and doing the unthinkable—hugging Randy.

Randy wasn't able to react or move. Stacy just _hugged_ him. Her body was pressing up against him, he suddenly felt weak in the knees, and his smile felt stiff. His heart began to beat faster, Stacy still not letting go of him.

Stacy suddenly noticed the magnitude of her actions and pushed Randy away gently. She reddened and laughed quietly to herself. A little out of control, she thought, and maybe a little foolish and caught up in the moment, but Randy seemed to like it, because she suddenly felt his hand sliding on to hers.

Her eyes widened and her face reddened even more. Randy's fingers were already intertwining with her hand, as if it was meant to fit there. When Stacy finally looked at him, he was smiling, not his usual smile, but his rather angelic, gentler one, and she felt as if she was going to float. She smiled back, and gave that large brown hand a little squeeze.

"So…uh…you wanna go to the parking lot?" Randy stammered.

Stacy nodded shyly, as they both ran to the parking lot with their hands still holding on to each other.

When they got there, a bunch of people—probably Randy's friends and a few acquaintances—hopped out of their Beetles and started greeting each other. A few guys were slapping Randy's back as they walked.

"Hey, that looks like my car!" Stacy hollered, letting go of Randy's hand and ran to the nearest Beetle she saw.

Randy followed her lookout. It _did_ look like Stacy's Beetle—same polished color of red. There was no one inside it, and he guessed there won't be any harm done just by looking at it.

"Take a picture with me on it," Stacy suggested.

He obeyed and took out his Ericsson T600, put it on Camera mode, and aimed the lens perfectly on Stacy standing by on the hood of the car. She beamed rather cutely, then Randy pressed the button.

_Click!_

"One more," she recommended.

"Okay…one more…" Randy put in on Camera mode again as Stacy went for a new pose—leaning down on the fender as if she was a swimsuit model. Randy chuckled a little and pressed the button again.

_Click!_

Then an attractive redheaded girl ran up behind Randy and placed her hands over his eyes. "Guess who?"

When Randy turned around, his eyes were finally uncovered and turned around to meet the perpetrator. "Oh, hi Christy."

The petite redhead named Christy smiled then called a few girls from a few Beetles away.

Stacy stood up straighter, forgotten, as she saw the girls nearing Randy. They were all attractive, she noticed—blondes, brunettes, all of them real beautiful and dressed for a party.

"Anyway, remember the girls?" Christy asked Randy. "Here's Carmella, and Maria, Michelle, Joy, Amy…"

Christy continued to introduce each girl to Randy, names that Stacy wouldn't even want to hear. Randy kept turning back to her, but he couldn't even seem to get away for the sake of the other girls. She suddenly felt a pang of jealousy, an aching in the chest that wouldn't let her breathe, but her face remained expressionless. Stacy walked away, wanting to find a concession stand somewhere to drink some water and cool off.

A several rightful feet away from the scene, Stacy continued to walk, not noticing two big, burly guys—a black guy and a white guy—wearing APA shirts. She accidentally bumped into them, the white guy's soda spilling all over Stacy's yellow tank top. She gasped.

"Watch where you're going!" the black guy told her, annoyed.

"Stupid," the white guy added. They both walked away from her.

Stacy would have fought them off but she couldn't—they were too big and she still wanted to get home alive. Instead, she took out a paper towel from her body bag and wiped it all over her chest and then her arms.

Randy finally seemed to notice Stacy was missing, and when he looked around, he just saw her right there behind a blue Beetle, wiping herself with a towel. He ran to her, forgetting that he was still talking to someone. The girls followed him.

"Stace," Randy called out as soon as he got there, and saw Stacy's top drenched in soda. "Are you all right?"

"I-I'm fine," Stacy managed to say.

Randy looked at the girls behind him and then back to her. "Come on, join us."

Christy was begging Randy for a picture with her group. Then she handed her Sony Digicam to Stacy. "Can you take it?"

Stacy stared at her blankly and took the camera without a word. Randy couldn't even talk to her since he was already dragged by the girls' right in the middle. Stacy aimed the lens at them.

"Smile everyone!" Christy told them.

Stacy clicked the button and the lightbulb flashed. After a few seconds, the camera loaded and showed the picture on the screen. All the beauties were smiling—all except Randy, who seemed to put on a forced one.

"Thank you!" Christy said gratefully, getting her camera back from Stacy's hand.

Stacy only nodded, without a word once more, and she continued to wipe herself. She looked up to find Randy, but he was dragged again by Christy and the other girls to a nearby coffee stand as if she wasn't standing there.

The rest of the night for her went ultimately silent.

…

Randy dropped Stacy's off to her house. He walked right behind her on the porch, his hands on his pockets, the yellow light illuminating the house's features. And up til now Stacy was still quiet. Randy didn't know what went wrong.

"Good night," he said rather awkwardly. Then he leaned close to kiss Stacy's cheek.

Instead of taking it, though, Stacy turned away and walked a few steps away from him, not looking at him at all when she ought to thank him in a proper manner. It wasn't a bad date—it actually went great. It's just that she suddenly felt dead inside, like running out of batteries. For the first time, she wanted nothing more than to go inside her house.

"Stacy?" Randy asked her, concerned. "What's wrong?"

No answer.

"Stacy…?"

The leggy girl sighed, then finally talked in her soft-spoken manner. "I don't want to be a part of your connection. I don't want to be just a statistic in your life. Much after now, I don't think I can invite you for coffee."

Then she looked up, a forlorn look in her face, and she said the words to Randy's horror.

"I can't do it."

Randy swallowed, wishing that she shouldn't have said that. "That's all gone. I'm finished with that. That's already a part of my past."

"Well, I guess I couldn't accept your past after all. I'm sorry…"

With another sigh, Stacy walked away from him and went inside the house, not saying or gesturing even a word of gratitude to Randy.

Randy remained frozen in where he stands. He was just turned down. Gulping heavily, he dragged himself back to his car slowly, headed for the highway to go home, but he had a feeling that he wouldn't be able to sleep or think much tonight. And to think of it, it was only the beginning of the torture.

_I guess it's over._

**(t.b.c.)**

**Don't hate me…just review!**


	5. What We Really Feel: Part 4

**To my dear readers…after construing this chapter I would like you to read the message below. please? anyone who'll review will get credit, I promise you that.**

**Part 4 up!**

…

**WHAT WE REALLY FEEL**

**Part 4 of 5**

"Ma'am! Ma'am! We still have to fix the wiring!" repairman Mick called out.

Stacy scowled as she tried to drive out _her_ own Beetle out of the repair section. Mick was following her, and he should be glad that she was at least driving a little slow, or she would have ran him over carelessly.

After that abrupt turn down to Randy a few nights ago, Stacy had a bad week. Her brown eyes were already blotchy and swelling from too much crying, she barely had a good night sleep, and she couldn't even eat properly, without knowing why. Trish immediately found out and Stacy had all up to hear to all from her best friend's put downs. The slumber party and two cartons of chocolate ice cream didn't help either. And now the problem with her stupid Beetle was adding.

"You know every time I come here you always find something broken in my car!" Stacy yelled at him from her car window. "Of all the many times I came here it's always my car you're giving your attention to!"

"But your boyfriend insisted on fixing it until it works!" Mick asserted.

"I TOLD YOU HE ISN'T MY BOYFRIEND!" Stacy finally lashed. And without a word, she exited the gasoline station.

A few seconds later, Randy's car parked on station and walked towards the repair section. He looked around, and knew something was wrong. Stacy's Beetle wasn't in its usual place. He ran up to Mick, who continues to fret obliviously.

"Where's Stacy's car?" he demanded.

"She was here a second ago to get it," the repairman responded.

Randy groaned. "Why did you give it to her? It's still broken!"

Ignoring Mick's rebukes that he wasn't Stacy's boyfriend after all, Randy ran to his car, drove it out of the gasoline station, and settled onto traffic. Cars were honking loudly under the hot afternoon sun. Randy kept tried to look out of the window, but there were too many cars.

"Come on!" Randy yelled, frustrated. "What the hell is this about!"

Caving in, he hopped out of the car and tiptoed to find out what the ruckus was all about. When few cars moved a little to gain way and give a clearer picture, Randy nearly tripped from his own Nikes.

It was Stacy, standing from behind her car, opening the engine and fanning the smoke away, despite the traffic she was already making. Randy quickly ran to her.

"Stacy!" Randy hollered.

Seeing him, Stacy slammed her engine shut. "Leave me alone!" Then she went back inside her car and steered away from him.

"Stacy, wait! Your car is still broken!" Randy insisted, running and pounding on her windows at the same time.

"You get away from me or I'll run you over!" she threatened. She floored the gas pedal hard and sped off.

Randy ran back to his Beetle to follow her. He knew what he did was wrong and he was willing to apologize. He even prepared a speech to explain himself that he didn't mean to hurt her. But Stacy was being stubborn, ignoring his calls and refused to contact him. He couldn't even find a way to make her listen without causing her to become violent. Trish couldn't talk to him either. It was as if the whole world was punishing him.

Now…he didn't even know if he could ever commit to someone he really cared for. And the problem was, the two of them aren't really together yet. This is worse than being dumped.

_No, stop it, _Randy reminded himself. _Things will get better. And Stacy will forgive me._

_I hope._

When Randy arrived at East Coast, Stacy's car was already parked in front of the house. Randy walked out of the car, and rung the doorbell several times. No answer. He tried to look at the windows. All curtained.

"Damn it…" Randy muttered. He fished out his phone and dialed Stacy's number.

After a few rings, he heard a beep, then a voice recorded repeated sound.

"_The number you dialed is not yet in service."_

The cellphone was turned off. Randy put it back on his pocket and stood rigid beside his car.

_I'm not leaving until she comes out, and I don't care how long it'll take._

…

9:00 p.m.

The streetlights were already on, and only few people dared to strut down the sidewalk on the late hour.

Stacy, already changed into a white tank top and loose pants, quietly crept on her bedroom floor to the window. Randy's car was still there, parked in front of hers. And the owner was sitting on the outdoor benches, rubbing his eyes sleepily and yawning without covering his mouth.

As if noticing her presence, Randy turned around and saw her looking at him. His blue eyes widened a little, showing a hint of apprehension, excitement, and maybe a little hope. How Stacy loved to look at those eyes, drown in those light blue pools she found attractive.

But she had to end it.

With a shake of her head, Stacy walked away from the window and turned off the bedroom lights.

Randy's eagerness melted away from his face when he saw only darkness from Stacy's bedroom. Giving up, he staggered his way inside his car and drove towards the exit of the subdivision. He was exhausted, he was tired…and more to the point, he was fed up.

Unknown to Randy, Stacy was still looking at the dimming taillights of his car from her bedroom window.

…

"Did Stacy dump you, sweetie?" Mrs. Orton asked.

Randy leaned against the marble balcony, the night dark and windy. But he had too much to worry about other than getting cold.

"No Mom, she didn't dump me," Randy answered. "We're not even together yet. I don't know…"

Mrs. Orton walked to his son beside her. They didn't say anything for a few seconds.

"Mom…didn't you say…if I found the right person, I will love her for keeps?" Randy queried.

His mother nodded.

"Then what happened to you and Dad? Did you think you were right for each other?"

"Of course I did."

Randy suddenly felt so weary. "But why the separation? I…I'm afraid, Mom. How much of me is Dad?"

Mrs. Orton sighed and ruffled Randy's brown hair. "Randall… we don't inherit the ability to love. You learn to love with your heart." Then she pointed a finger to his chest. "It's in there. You'll just feel it right there."

_Is that what I'm feeling the whole time? _Randy asked himself.

Damnable world, damnable hell, damnable emotions…

First of all, it wasn't really like him to forget his cocky façade. And also, to surrender to things he thought he was so good at. After everything that had happened…that unknown road, the lunch at McDonald's, the night at the gasoline station…was a whole new experience for him. And then Stacy went into his mind.

As she happened, Randy's heart suddenly throbbed. Then the invisible blow to the chest area suddenly came again.

_Should I just give up?_

Stacy was polishing her car, despite the fact that it was late, silently cursing to the repairmen on the gasoline station for not wiping it. As she polished the grill, she saw a small black dirty spot sticking there.

She frowned. Slathering polish all over the cloth, she wiped the spot.

Still there. Stacy wiped it again.

Her frown deepened. The spot was still there.

Annoyed, she threw the cloth on the grill, crossed her arms and gave the car a good kick, never fearing she might dislodge it. Then the sound of leather clogs clicked on the pavement.

"Oh…if you're finished and you're still in a bad mood…wipe my car, okay?" Trish quipped.

Stacy didn't find the joke funny. Instead she ignored Trish, picked up the forgotten cloth and wiped the front. Trish was still there, leaning against the driver's door.

"You know what? I hate to say this, but I told you so," Trish advised. "I watched this scene too many times."

Stacy was aware of the smirk the petite blonde was giving her. She abruptly stood up, passed by Trish, and took the can of polish with her, then started wiping on the back of her car, still not giving her friend a little eye contact.

"But you know, in fairness to him, he done a lot of things to you than to me," Trish continued. "There's effort, to say the least."

Stacy still wasn't saying anything.

Trish crossed her arms. "Stacy, I think the one who has a problem is not Randy. It's you who has a problem."

Stacy stopped wiping and sighed. "What if I just get myself hurt even more?"

"What if you didn't? You never know. It's just a waste," Trish asserted.

Stacy gave up wiping and finally looked at Trish. "You're right. I'm just… I'm just afraid to take chances."

Trish rolled her eyes. "I don't know why you have so many hang-ups. If you ever got hurt, it'll just pass away. Maybe…maybe Randy's not that bad after all."

The leggy girl swallowed. Her friend was always right. Randy isn't really a bad person. A little cocky, maybe, but not really that overpowering. It was the fear of hurt overpowering her. Physically he was no heartbreaker. But hers was breaking now. And she found these moments worsen if Randy wasn't with her. When she was with her, she felt free. She didn't feel scared, rejected, judged, unhappy, alone. And the fuzzy feeling inside her kept turning into a giant at the mere thought of him. The funny part was, he was the only person in the world that could make her feel this way, no matter how stupid or crazy it sounds.

Could this be love?

_To be or not to be?_

That remains the question, for now.

**(t.b.c.)**

**As for the question I was asking… can anyone here speak Spanish or French? It's stupid but I kinda need it. We don't study that here in school, damn those nuns… and it's really important, if you want me to continue this fic…as Randy and Stacy's story finally comes into closure! If you'll be able to answer these, just review and don't put it into e-mail because I barely check them. Please and thank you!**

**SENTENCES TO BE TRANSLATED:**

**You could have been cute if you weren't so grumpy.**

**You always think of yourself! You think I like living here! My life's better back in Mexico/France! You're making a fool out of me!**

**You could have been cute if you weren't so cheap.**

**You are so cute!**

**Grumpy boy…good thing you're cute.**

**You're much cuter!**

**I know, strange words…but they'll be a significance to his fic soon! Translate it in French or Spanish, it's okay! Just please please please help me!**


	6. What We Really Feel: Part 5

**I'm so, so sorry for the long wait…college is obviously getting into my nerves. Plus the preliminaries are on the 20th to the 22nd, so I'm going to be pretty busy.**

**Thanks to that someone for those translations—all the credit will be paid off when I get to finish this. Heehee. Enjoy!**

…

**WHAT WE REALLY FEEL**

Part 5 of 5

"I don't know, Trish," Stacy said over the phone, trying not to sound whiny. "I'm really not into a shopping mood this past couple of days. Next week, maybe?"

Trish snorted. "Can't. I'll be going out with Chris."

"All week? You can't be serious!"

"Relax. We're not doing anything anyone's thinking that we might be doing, although it should be what we're doing," Trish replied with a laugh. "Besides, after all this pressure with you-know-who, I think you could really use a break."

Stacy sighed. "I guess."

"So are you still coming over?"

"After my job interview. You sure you could wait? I mean, this could take a while."

"It's fine. I'm a big girl. I can entertain myself."

After that Stacy hung up the phone, looking at her reflection nervously in front of the full-length mirror. She skipped breakfast to pick out her best clothes and barricaded herself for about an hour in her bathroom to do her hair and make-up. Now, wearing a lacy green strapless top, a frilly short black skirt, green Manolo Blahniks, matching dangling earrings, and her blonde hair done in soft curls…she knew she had done enough to make a first impression.

_I shouldn't be this nervous. I know I'm going to ace it._

But with all her heart, her mind wasn't really focused on the impending job interview.

Her mind was focused on Randy itself.

It's been going on-and-off in her mind on whether she would reconcile with Randy or not. The idea had bugged her for weeks. She even _tried_ to think if he still might be interested, but after that little fiasco on the road she hasn't heard a peep from him ever since. Lately she's been dialing and redialing his number on the phone, not taking time on what she really wants to say to him. Part of her just tells her to forget him.

_So why do I feel so miserable?_

Shaking off the thought, she grabbed her tote bag and went downstairs. Her parents already left to go to work late again, leaving her free to do what she liked. She wrote a note on the kitchen phone telling where she was going, found her car keys, and walked out on the sunny California morning, where happy neighbors drove bikes on the streets, a cool breeze winning over the hot salty air.

Stacy took a deep breath and smiled. It seems like nothing can go wrong.

Then a second look on her empty driveway proved her wrong.

Her 1975 red Beetle was nowhere in sight.

_Oh…my…God…_

After a few seconds, a shrill scream was heard through the entire subdivision.

…

"Are you positively sure that your car—_that_ car—was carnapped?" the pudgy policeman asked for the millionth time.

"Well, it disappeared!" Stacy insisted.

The policeman gave her a disbelieving look and walked away to the direction of the station's exit. Stacy held her ground, stunned.

The moment she broke out of her shriek she immediately called Trish to turn down her shopping offer and bummed a ride from one of her neighbors straight to the police station. As soon as she got there, though, things went a lot uglier. After telling her story, all the policemen just shrugged and went back to work, some of them not giving her a time of the day and would rather save cats stuck up in trees than to listen to her. And here she was a late, sweaty mess, almost broke, and being treated unfairly by these idiots called "policemen."

Shaking her head, she followed the policeman out of the glass doors. When she found him, he was looking around, as if searching for stalkers.

"Please sir, why can't you just listen to me?" Stacy pleaded. "What are you looking for?"

"Miss, is this MTV Punk'd? Where's the camera?" he joked.

"I was carnapped! What will I even get if I got Punk'd?" she groaned, her hands covering her face.

"Stacy!" a deep masculine voice called out.

Stacy jumped at the sound of her name, and turned around to see the person standing only a few feet away, the person she hasn't seen or talked to in days, the person who invaded her thoughts so quickly to the point of actually going crazy.

"Randy…" she breathed.

He looked as gorgeous as always, clad in a brown jacket over a striped polo shirt and denim jeans, but something about the expression of his face made Stacy's pulse pound quickly. Before she could make any other faltering admission he ran up to her, his featured devoid of any annoyed or disgusted emotion.

"Trish told me what happened to your car," Randy told her. "You found out who took it yet?"

Stacy opened her mouth to answer until the policeman cut in. "Miss, we're sorry but your story's kind of hard to believe. I mean, the type of car that you're telling us was carnapped is already out of value. _Without_ value, if I may correctly say—''

"The hell do you mean, without value!" Randy interrupted with distaste. "I owe a lot to that car! If it wasn't so freakin' old, it won't stall. And then I won't meet the girl who would change my life!"

Stacy, too surprised to react, just eyed the hard floor she was standing on.

"You know, this was the very first time I thought of someone else this much other than myself," Randy continued to argue. "Isn't that already passing over true commitment? Isn't that what everyone calls true love?"

When Stacy finally looked up, the policeman was smiling wryly at her, and next to him was Randy, who was giving her a mock serious expression.

"I'll call you," she bleated pathetically to the policeman, then she made her escape.

But Randy suddenly grabbed her arm. "Stacy, why are you always acting like that? You already made the mistake of using a born-to-be-broken vehicle that you keep forcing yourself to drive on. You don't even know if you're going to make it without that damn engine smoking!"

"I…"

"But you still take your chance," Randy's voice suddenly became gentle. "If you're scared to get hurt, I'm more scared to hurt you. Can't you see that?"

Randy's expression looked so torn and hopeless that Stacy was really afraid to look him in the eye right now, but his statement had hit her home. She didn't know what else to do but to look away from him. _Anywhere_ but him.

After several minutes he let her go. "I guess not," he said, as if he was forcing himself to speak. "Goodbye Stacy."

When Stacy turned around to face him he was nowhere to be seen, instead he was walking briskly to his car several feet away. Then, like a bubble growing inside her, it burst out before her head even coordinated with her heart.

"Randy, wait!"

The tall, tanned brunette froze and turned to face her, a shocked look crossing his handsome features. Stacy ran to his car and to him, a suitable distance in front of each other.

"Okay, okay, you're right!" Stacy said breathlessly, exhilarated that she couldn't help smiling. "When in my car I could take the risks…why not with you, right?"

After a few seconds a semi-crooked smile broke out from Randy's face, half-laughing and half-smirking. "What are you saying?"

"Randy…" She squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm taking my chances with you."

She reopened them again excitedly to find Randy, beaming at him like an angel sent to save her, as he started to walk up to her. Stacy began walking up to him as well…until she tripped on her heels, anticipating the smell of tar right at her nose.

Instead, she was caught in the tanned tattooed arms of her beholder, her face caught in the rise and fall of his broad breathing chest, and her own hazel eyes caught in the cool clear blue pools of Randy Orton.

_Because of you._

Closing those beautiful orbs, he leaned in closer and pressed his lips on hers; brushing them softly before parting them open, drowning in a kiss that let her see fireworks even with her eyes closed.

And it seemed like letting go would both take them awhile.

**(END of 1st story)**

…

**Yes! Finally finished! **

**Next story: John Cena and Torrie Wilson in a different twist! I personally can't wait! **

**Please don't forget to review! Pretty pleases:P**


	7. With A Smile: Part 1

**Special thanks to _gtea-angel_: those French translations were really useful, trust me.**

**I'm just so glad that many of my fellow authors (and Kababayans! Ü) loved the Randy Orton/Stacy Keibler tandem. As I've said earlier, this story is a hundred percent parody from a local movie shown here with the same title, and I think that all characters of the story are a perfect match from the movie itself.**

**And to _blue3ski_ for that Got 2 Believe thing...I'm actually in a dilemma right now. Do it or not do it? LOL:p**

**Let's move on to the next story, shall we? For the Beetle will victimize The Doctor of Thuganomics and one of the hottest WWE divas of all time. As for the ending…you'll have to read more to find out!**

…

**WITH A SMILE**

**Part 1 of 5**

"Johnny!"

"What is it now, Tor?"

"I dropped your shirt on the ground. A little help here, please?"

A scowl. "Stupid girl," he mutters.

John Cena turned around and walked towards a harried-looking Torrie Wilson, an armload of costumes in her arms and a plain white cotton shirt lying on the concrete ground in front of her. His scowl deepened as he picked it up and threw it carelessly on the load the blonde was carrying.

"The hell is wrong with you, woman?" John demanded as he walked towards his old red Beetle. "If you tear off even one of them costumes you're gonna have to pay for it. Plus I'll be including that on the reast of your debts."

Torrie held the costumes tighter on her chest as she stood next to the passenger's side. "You're always so angry; you'll get a heart attack!"

"Why? Because you've been living here for almost a month now and you're still a failure!" John countered.

Torrie frowned as John went inside the car and unlocked the passenger door for her. She went in without a word, John delving the key into the ignition, and as soon as the engine thrummed to life, he closed his door. Knowing a way to get back at him, Torrie held the knob of her own door firmly with one hand, ready to close it. John gave her a warning look.

"Don't slam it!" he yelled.

But she did slam it—_hard. _It was so hard, in fact, the grill was already threatened to get off.

"_Torrie!_"

She gave him a fake smile of apology, then turned her head on the window and muttered curses while staring through the car window. John rolled his eyes and stepped on the gas pedal, driving the car off of the five-star California hotel and headed it towards the road home.

It wasn't really like this at first. But here's how the twosome first met:

John works as a tourist guide from the nearest airport and also was joined in the entertainment group of the job to entertain tourists from Germany, Russia, Italy, France, et cetera. After months of saving he was able to move out after college and got a room in the boarding house at downtown LA along with his college buddies—his friend Eddie Guerrero and his girlfriend Dawn Marie Psaltis.

John always worked hard, and gets twice as much salary than any normal person will do that he officially became the money-lender of the busiest cull de sac the boarding house stands in. He spent his leftover money to buy and fix a broken-down 1975 red Beetle for himself that a friend gave from the towing service after finding it at East Coast Homes in suburban LA.

Then came this fateful day. John was ushering French tourists to the buses parked outside the airport until he saw this blonde, attractive young girl looking and walking around as if she was lost. Mesmerized by her, he approached her, and after a few mind-numbing basic words of French, she introduced herself as Torrie Wilson, an American-born French girl growing up from the city of Paris. After more French words and foolish gestures and signs, he managed to make her speak English and poof! They've been together ever since.

After that, the people who were supposed to pick Torrie up from the airport still didn't show up, and she claimed to John that she spent all her money coming here and didn't know where to spend her night. So John made a quick decision; he lent Torrie 25,000 dollars, let her stay at the flamboyant gay man Rico's beauty salon next door to the boarding house, and she'll be his work partner until she pays off her debt. Desperate to live, Torrie agreed to the plan.

John actually thought he'll be able to cope with his stressful job and relax with Torrie as his work partner, but he didn't know it was more work for him. Torrie wasn't stupid and as ditzy at all as he expected, but she was very clumsy, sometimes absent-minded, and often, misunderstood. With that, even the smallest mistakes that she made always lead to arguments. Because of the bad blood boiling up, Torrie wanted to, and practically begged John for her to leave USA, but John letting go of her was the last thing on his mind and making her pay her debt was the first. For him, everyday was a war, and both of them thought they would never, ever get along.

"Didn't I always tell you not to slam the door?" John told her for the nth time.

"Didn't I already say that I won't?" Torrie shot back.

They continued to argue when John parked the Beetle in front of the boarding house. It was 8:30 in the evening, but everyone in the cull de sac were still awake and pretty much lively. Kids were seen playing on the streets while karaoke bar across boomed out voices of slurred drunks singing out Mariah Carey oldies.

Still holding the costumes, Torrie hopped out of the car first and slammed the door again in annoyance that the mug wheels got off.

"Oops." she whispered.

John locked the doors before getting off the car and saw the mistake Torrie had made. He glared at her.

"I'll get it," she said quickly.

She bent down to get it, but John already bent down, accidentally knocking heads together. Both yelped out in pain.

Tears of pain glistened on Torrie's green eyes while rubbing the top of her head. "It's not my fault that your chin's so sharp!"

"I'll get it. Just get in the house!" John ordered her irritably.

As John pressed the mug wheel back to the hot black rubber, he heard Torrie puppy-dog growled at him—an unusual habit of expressing her anger. Then she stood up and walked away from him to the house. He stood up himself and gave the wheel one good kick, observing it again.

"Still tryin' to make her know I'm the boss around here," he whispered to the car, rubbing its red paint gently.

Suddenly, John heard kids from the other side of his car laughing. He went over to take a look, and saw Torrie laughing along with them.

"Here, Barbie. Flowers for you," the kid with the red hat said bashfully as he pushed a bunch of pink carnations towards Torrie.

"They're really pretty," Torrie said, smiling at him. "_Merci,_ you guys."

It sounded funny to compare a silent and smiley plastic doll like that to a girl like Torrie. Pet naming her like that sounded funny, too. But John didn't even crack a smile as he went impulsively in front of Torrie and faced the kids. They shuddered at his angry glare.

"What, you're making me buy a vase to put all that in?" he glowered.

With that the kids scurried off, and Torrie was left only with an armload of stinky clothes and no flowers. John walked ahead of her to the boarding house.

"_Vous pourriez avoir été mignon si vous n'étiez pas aussi grincheux! _(You could've been cute if you weren't so grumpy!)" Torrie muttered behind his back.

John thought he heard French. "What the hell were you saying?"

"Nothing."

"Whatever."

And Torrie couldn't help smirking at John's innocence.

When they were both inside, Dawn was at the living room, resting on the sofas. The brunette smiled when she saw both of them.

"Oh good, you're home," she greeted. "John, the electric and the water bill just came in and it needs to be paid for next week."

"Okay. I'll take care of it," John said noncommittally.

"And John, I need new dresses, too," she added.

"Shouldn't you let Eddie buy some for you?" John replied as he sat down on the recliner and began taking out inch-think thousand dollar bills from his throwbacks pocket.

"Hi Dawn," Torrie greeted.

"Hi," And with a shake of her head, Dawn went to the kitchen without another word.

John continued to count money obliviously as soon as Torrie finished putting all the clothes in the wash. She stood across John.

"How much did we earn from gifts and souvenirs?" she asked.

John looked up and gave her another irritated look. "_We?_ What do you mean _we?_ Your salary for today goes into my piggy bank, little missy."

She crossed her arms. "How much more do I owe you? I want to know!"

"Oh, and you're gonna act demanding this time?" John said in a hard voice. "I'm telling you, Torrie. If it weren't for me lending you 25 grand you would have rotten to jail right now."

Torrie raked her curly blonde locks in frustration. "Debt, IOU's…that all I ever hear from you! I've been telling you I have no more money and I don't have a bank account here!"

"You think that's my fault?" John began, standing up. "I don't think there's anything wrong with charging your ass continuously. In fact, I'm actually having fun doing it."

Torrie stamped her foot on the rugged floor. "That's not funny John! You always charge me for water, shampoo, lotion, napkin! You even charge me for air! When can I leave!"

"You can't leave unless you pay me back!" John replied, pounding his hand on the coffee table. "You work harder so you can leave. Your problem is…"

And then a noisy battle ensued, both of them saying the same things without them knowing it.

"You always think of yourself!—_Vous pensez toujours à vous-même! _(You always think of yourself!)"

"Do you think I like having you here!—_Vous pensez que j'aime vivre ici! _(Do you think I like living here!)"

"My life's better when you're not around here!—_Mon meilleur dos de la vie en France! _(My life's better back in France!)"

"You're making a jackass out of me!—_Vous fabriquez un imbécile à partir de moi! _(You're making a fool out of me!)"

"Heeeeey!" Rico's shrilly voice rang out from the door, making John and Torrie quiet. "Like noisy little bitches and kitties…won't the two of you just get along for once!" The gay man held up a kitchen knife from the table. "Here, take this and just kill the ass out of each other!"

No one moved or said a word.

Rico pointed the tip of the knife at Torrie. "You…go back to the house!"

Torrie snuffed and stormed out the door.

Then Rico pointed the knife to John this time. "And you…stay! This is your house," He set down the knife and followed Torrie out the door.

After that John caught sight of Torrie at the front window, giving him another growl. He reciprocated with a growl of his own. The she finally left.

John massaged his forehead after giving Dawn a sullen look for smiling at the twosome's little war.

…

John woke up the following morning, stretching his arms to the balcony of the boarding house. The sun was shining hotly, and the cull de sac was still as busy and as noisy as ever.

Below the balcony was his Beetle parked on the side of the street, and beside it was Torrie finished hanging huge blankets next door on the clotheslines temporarily installed in front of the closed parlor. As John watched, Torrie held a bucket of soapy water, and to his surprise, splashed it all over the top of his car down to the trunk.

"_Torrie!_"

The blonde looked preferably shocked at the sound of her name. John immediately got out of the house in a breeze, another bucket of clean water in one hand.

"What the hell do you think you're doing! Don't touch my car!" John ordered Torrie as soon as he set down his bucket. "If something broke, you debt will be adding up!"

"You said I should work harder so I can leave!" Torrie objected.

John started to splash water in all directions. "Yeah, but this has nothing to do with my car!"

"Heeeeeeeeeeeeey!" Rico yelled, overhearing, looking horrible as ever in glittery clothes and make-up. "So early in the morning and you're already fighting! What's wrong with the two of you! You John…always so high blooded! Why can't you just send this Russian girl back home!"

"French girl!" John corrected. "And a rather stupid one!"

"Whatever that is!"

"She still has so much to pay from me!" he said defensively.

"If you continue to charge her with every breath and with every turn of her head, you might as well just steal all the money of Germany!"

"_France!_"

"Wherever that is!" Then, a sly smile came to Rico. "Unless of course…you're doing it on purpose…"

There was a teasing tone in Rico's voice that made John stop washing his car. He looked straight at Torrie, and when she caught his eye, she glared at him and turned away.

John's unhappy stare burned holes at Torrie's back. "She ain't my type."

Rico's only reply was a snort. With an empty bucket finished, John walked back to the house to fill it up again.

"Always so angry…maybe because you have no love life!" Torrie yelled sarcastically behind him.

"How am I gonna get myself a girlfriend if you keep scaring them away!" John returned.

"Grumpy ass!"

"Stupid girl!"

When he made it to the garden hose near the door, Eddie and Dawn were on the entryway, snickering. He opened the hose full blast over the bucket, therefore giving John a chance to confront the couple.

"What's so funny?" he demanded.

"Nothing, _esse_," Eddie answered immediately. "Anyway, Door 314's kid is sick and needs some money so he could get—''

"Maybe later," John said quickly. Ignoring the couple's pensive glances, he went back to his overflowing bucket after turning the hose off, and went back to the car with it. He washed his car again until Rico approached him, skipping like an eight-year-old with a schoolgirl crush.

John gulped. Rico actually attempted to grope his bum once a few days ago, which meant John had to be careful around him. He continued to wash his car, ignoring Rico's batting eyelashes.

"John, sweetie," Rico began. "I need few dollars to buy some polish."

"How much are you asking?" he said slowly.

"20?"

John narrowed his eyes and glared at Rico.

"17?"

Another glare.

"15?"

More glares.

"Alright!" Rico howled, getting his message. "5 dollars is all I need!"

John reluctantly took out his wallet, fished out a crisp 5 dollar bill and handed it to the faggot, knowing he'll never see it again. Satisfied, Rico purposefully strode back inside his parlor, and John went back to washing his car.

"_Vous pourriez avoir été mignon si vous n'étiez pas aussi bon marché. _(You could've been cute if you weren't so cheap.)" Torrie said as she brushed past John.

John rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated breath, splashing his Beetle with such violence that he ended up getting his feet wet.

_I can't wait for her to leave._

The rest of the day went normally noisy as usual.

**(t.b.c.)**

**What do you think of that? Don't forget to review!**

**I have a favor to ask…could you get me a French translation of, "I wish he loves me, too." I would really appreciate it. Thanks!**


	8. With A Smile: Part 2

**Trust me…you'll absolutely love what will happen next!**

**And if you would love to see a more mature John Cena, read my AU fic SOLDIER. Lots of parody wrestling action, comedy, mild drama, and a wee bit of romance. :p I hate to sound like JBL, but I guarantee you guys, it's really good! Do read it, please? Thanx!**

**Here's part 2!**

…

**WITH A SMILE**

**Part 2 of 5**

"And this is the Mann's Chinese Theater. Mann's Chinese Theater on Hollywood Boulevard in Los Angeles is one of the city's most famous movie theaters. Since it opened in 1927, it has been the location of numerous Hollywood premieres. It is best known for the handprints and footprints of well-known film stars, who have left these signatures in cement in front of the theater for more than 50 years. Now, all tourists form 2 vertical lines to the entrance, do not push each other, pictures can be taken until I give out my order, and after this we'll go straight to the Hollywood Walk of Fame so we'll still be able to catch our favorite stars' stars! Thank you!"

John surreptitiously watched Torrie from the back, leaning against the tourist's cab while she entertained them. Normally he would have done his job all be himself perfectly despite his nearly ripped throat, but he decided that maybe he should relax and watch Torrie do it herself for once, to see what she could do.

The only problem was, John _really_ was watching her, focusing more on her face than her words.

Even from the first time they met, Torrie had always been charming. Even when she was around other people she could wrap anyone around her finger. Maybe it was her smile, or her happy nature, or those astonishing green eyes. Whatever it was, Torrie was obviously working her magic again—this time on her innocent fellow tourists that are much like herself.

With that same charm, he somehow couldn't stand holding a grudge against her for reasons he never knew why. Even being a French girl made an air of mystery surround her, making him curious. Clad only in a fitted shirt, loose denim jeans and sneakers with her light locks tumbling freely on her back, but even in the simple way she spoke, held herself, or the way she batted her eyes and tuck a curly blonde strand behind one ear somehow held her audience in awe, and it's not only because of the sceneries extremely new to them.

And as much as he hated to admit it, John was already held captive by her himself. And it's been going on secretly for weeks now.

_How come I never noticed her like this before? She's just so…so…cute._

_Noticing? I thought you were just looking at her._

_Well, so what? It's not as if there aren't lots of girls around here prettier than she is._

_Liar. You already seen them all but she's at the top of your list. You won't find anyone like her._

_Sure I can. I don't need a ditz like her._

_She ain't a ditz, stupid. She's just innocent. And you take the fun of torturing her because you're obviously crazy for her._

_I am not crazy for her!_

John mentally shook his head. So many voices debating with him inside his head, proving a losing battle. Shielding his eyes with his hat, that didn't stop a small smile flitting across his face.

But it instantly disappeared as soon as Torrie finished her speech and turned to him, giving him the how-did-I-do look.

John reciprocated with a scowl and mouthed, "Continue jawing them out!" at her. He tapped his watch.

"T-there's still so much to see!" Torrie told her tourists, getting his message. "B-but still…the main tourist attraction are still the Californians—famous for their warm hospitality."

Then she gave John a half-stoned grin. "I hope you've experienced it the way I have. Thank you very much!" she said through her teeth. And with a last glare at him she stormed off inside the Chinese theater, the tourists obliviously following her heels inside.

Instead of following, though, John leaned back again on the cab, free to smile widely as he can.

…

Later that night, John was driving Torrie on the way back home until she started forcing him to treat her to dinner outside after a hard day's work. Caving in, he grudgingly parked his Beetle in front of a 24-hour diner while Torrie didn't waste any time waiting for him and already ran inside.

When John went in, he noticed there were only few people eating there since it was already late, but the food seemed huge. He found Torrie on a two-person booth near the windows, scanning the menus.

He sat across her. "Torrie, I already told you there's food in the house. This place seems awfully deluxe."

Torrie put her menu down. "You should treat me, for once. I did all the work. You didn't do anything the whole day."

John rested his arms on the table. "Maybe I didn't do anything the whole day, but keep in mind that I was the one supervising you."

"You are just so unbelievable, John. Do you even _have_ a heart?" Torrie scoffed, going back to her menu.

John just leaned on his seat, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. Torrie looked up from the menu and gasped.

"Oh my God! He smiled!" She stood up from her chair and waved her hands in the air. "Praise the Lord! He smiled!"

John abruptly pushed her back down on her chair. "Will you stop that and just order!" he hissed, motioning from the curious onlookers.

A cheery 30-something waitress came just in time. "What would you like to have, handsome?"

John's breathing went back to normal paces before he shrugged. "Just coffee."

"How 'bout you, sweetie?"

Torrie bit her lip. "Let's see… a jumbo cheeseburger, two chili dogs, large onion rings and fries, a large chocolate shake, and an apple pie."

The waitress made several checks on her pad. "Okay, would you like a slice of our cheesecake with that? It's really good."

Torrie nodded. "Yes please!"

The woman finally walked off scratching half the stuff on her pad. When she was finally out of earshot, John let out a little snicker. "Leave it to the waitress to sell you a cheesecake, too. What a pig."

But Torrie ignored the insult and saw the unmistakable smile on John's face again. "Another smile! Hallelu—''

"I told you—_stop it_," John reminded her with a much calmer voice, grabbing her shoulders before she could make a futile effort to stand up again.

But Torrie's grin was contagious. "You smiled, you smiled," she chirped in a sing-song.

"All right, I did."

Torrie chuckled a bit, then her face turned a little serious. "John, I want to ask you about something…"

"What is it?"

"I want to ask for a vacation," she declared. "I want to travel all over Hollywood all the way up to Malibu, see the tall palm trees, like in those pretty postcards. I want to be like our tourists."

John frowned. "You already are a tourist."

"That's the whole point!" Torrie insisted. "I just want someone to drive me around and show me around places I haven't seen before, so I could just be there and feel it before I'd go home."

John got the point. "Are you…you're saying you want me to be your guide?"

"Will you, John? I mean, if it's alright with you. Please?"

John thought for a moment, studied Torrie expectant expression, and then came up with an answer. "I will think about it. Maybe if you would stop pissing me off and stop screwing up more often."

Torrie's expression quickly turned cloudy. "_Vous pourriez avoir été mignon si vous n'étiez pas aussi grincheux. _(You could have been cute if you weren't so grumpy.)"

"Are you cussing me or something?" John demanded.

"No, sir," Torrie answered with a fake grin. Then she turned away with a rather cute pout and rested her chin in one hand, muttering French nothings that no one would even understand.

Unknown to her, John was observing her with an amused smile nearly reaching his ears, trying to keep from laughing out loud, and of course, giving in to his feelings brewing inside of him.

_Damn. I'm definitely whipped._

…

_Can you keep up…baby boy lemme lose my breath…_

Torrie continued to hum along with the music of her pink iPod clipped onto her jeans. Determined to make up to John, she went by his house early in the morning, went by the living room and saw Dawn Marie ironing his clothes, mostly composing of loose shirts and three-quartered jeans. Dawn actually didn't mind finishing it all, but Torrie insisted on doing it herself. If being his slave or humiliating herself to pay off her debt would make John give her the vacation she deserved, she would happily do it in a minute.

_I'll show that big lug that I'm definitely not a failure. I'll prove it._

After a few more minutes the big lug finally went down from long hours of sleep. John sleepily rubbed his eyes, yawned, and sluggishly went down the stairs. When he reached the bottom stair he stretched his bare torso, slid his feet into his Reeboks, and his rather blurred vision saw a blonde girl with her back turned to him, looking like she was dancing while ironing clothes, judging by her hip shaking.

Then his blue eyes suddenly popped open. _Torrie? Ironing? What the hell!_

As if hearing her presence called, Torrie suddenly turned around and faced him. Her grin suddenly disappeared as she caught sight of John shirtless for the very first time, his tall, muscular frame and six-packs rippling in the morning sun.

Torrie felt her face burn and redden with shame. It was not like her to focus on another guy's body, no matter how great it looked. She already found John good-looking the first time she laid eyes on him, but she wasn't ready for the jelly feeling on her knees and the racing of her heart. Ignoring the thought, she turned around back to the board and continued to iron as if she hasn't seen him.

Seeing her reaction, John suddenly noticed the mistake he made and grabbed a shirt rolled up in his front jeans pocket. He began putting it on, walking towards Torrie.

"What are you doing in my house?" he asked.

The only sound heard was the steam of the iron blowing off. Torrie ignored him and continued to iron, more frantic this time. Then John noticed the pink iPod on her jeans as he jerked off an earphone in her ear.

"I said—what are you doing here, Torrie?" he repeated.

"Ironing! With the, uh…iron!" Torrie finally answered, holding the hot heavy metal almost to his face.

"Dawn…" John started to whine.

Dawn chuckled from the recliner while she sipped a cup of coffee. "She insisted on finishing it. I couldn't do anything."

John was about to argue when Torrie presented a neat stack of shirts and jeans. "I finished all your clothes, John. I'll iron for you 350 dollars a day. Minus in my debt!"

John's lip curled as he grabbed one of his shirts from the stack and detected wrinkles from the collars. "What do you mean 350? I bet not all of those are not all creased up! Make that 150!"

"You're such a cheater, you…you _stupid_!" Torrie sputtered.

John leaned across her from the ironing board and imitated Droopy's expression. "Awwww…the poor widdle French girl's gonna cry. Ahuhuhuhu…"

"Huh?"

Torrie understood nothing of John's mocks so she only puppy-dog growled at him again, John continuing to tease her.

"Alright, that's enough, you two," Dawn scolded good-humoredly. "You don't want Rico storming up here again, do we?"

"John? John, we're here!"

John started at the sound of his name and was surprised to see his parents waving by the window as they reached the already open front door. He automatically walked up to them and gave them a hug.

"Hi Mom," he greeted. "Dad."

Torrie didn't have any idea how Americans greet visitors so she did the same thing John did and impulsively ran to the front door and hugged John's parents. John's face went blank at her side.

"Hi Mom!" she also greeted. "Hi Dad!"

Mr. Cena looked obviously amused. "Why, Carol, it looks like there's something our son's not telling us."

"Is she a friend of yours, John?" Mrs. Cena asked.

John snapped out of his hypnosis. "Oh, uh…her name's Torrie Wilson. She's that French tourist I was telling you about."

"Is she? She's very beautiful." his mother complimented.

Torrie only smiled sweetly. "Pleasure meeting you."

"Please do come in," Dawn said, walking up to greet them as well. "Make yourself at home while I get some snacks ready."

"Thanks Dawn," John said politely.

John led his parents to the living room and seated them on the cushy sofas as Torrie scrambled to get the ironing board and the pressed clothes out of their way. Later Dawn went back from the kitchen with cookies and juice while Torrie helped her arrange them on the coffee table. Then they were all finally seated down.

"This is quite a neighborhood, John," Mr. Cena began. "Are you sure this place is safe for all of you here?"

"The people here are okay. I like living here," John replied. "What brings you here, by the way?"

"We just want to visit, to see how the two of you are doing," his mother said.

"Everything's fine, Mom. I just wish you could tell me when you're coming to keep me from sending you fare to visit here all the time." John said rather sourly.

A piercing silence followed after Mrs. Cena cleared her throat silently while Mr. Cena looked away. Dawn fell silent too while John's hard expression remained on his face. Torrie felt inwardly offended at John's harsh words and had the sudden urge to kick him in the shins, but also she couldn't help wondering when his mother said the words, "the two of you." Was there somebody else?

"Well, um, anyway…we came here to say that if you have nothing to do we want all of you to come to Malibu with us by the end of the month." Mrs. Cena got out.

"Oh yes! A birthday party!" Dawn said happily.

The words _Malibu_ and _party_ suddenly caught Torrie's attention. "Birthday? Whose birthday are you saying?" she asked Dawn.

"John's mom." the brunette answered.

"Oh! Happy birthday, Mom!" Torrie said cheerfully, giving John's mother another hug.

Mrs. Cena chuckled. "No, not yet, sweetie, but you can come too. You're invited."

"Well, _I_ wish that the money that you'll be spending should be paid for all your debts," John said loudly for all them to hear.

Another silence followed, longer this time. Then John stalked out of the living room and ran up the stairs, leaving them out of the blue. A few seconds later Torrie thought she heard a door slam. Her face burned again, feeling embarrassed for John's parents.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Cena," Dawn suddenly said apologetically. "He didn't mean to say that. He's just very high-strunged from too much work and he just can't—''

"It's all right, Dawn. Really," Mrs. Cena said immediately. "Honestly, we really couldn't blame him for what he's going through right now."

_Couldn't blame him!_ Torrie thought, her eyes on her feet as her face burned even more. _The least he can do is to appreciate their visits!_

This was the very first time Torrie met John's parents, and the very first time she saw John's treatment to them. Never had she seen such disrespect coming out from him.

And even knowing John for a little while, she already knew that he took everything that matters seriously. John was going way too overboard, even in such trivial things such as money. But Torrie grew up knowing that every person needs to loosen up once in a while and that money wasn't really everything. Especially when things started coming to his red Beetle…

_Why couldn't he just enjoy it?_

…

Another day, another nickel.

John parked his Beetle in front of the boarding house and killed the engine, having finished another day's work. It was very late, that there's no one to see outside their houses from the whole cull de sac. He was beat, he was exhausted, but Torrie surprisingly did her job perfectly, made no mistake, and not a whine came out of her mouth that day, so he thought nothing had went wrong. John took off the keys off the ignition and handed it Torrie.

"Here, take these and open the door. Wash those costumes yourself because Dawn's not around," he ordered.

He half-expected her to argue but she only nodded. "Okay."

John watched her hop out the car with the same stinky armload of costumes in her arms, closed the door with a rather minimal sound of a slam, and walked up the stoop to the front door and opened it. There had been no doubt that Torrie had been acting strange the whole day, following orders only with a nod and only talks unless somebody asks her a question.

_I won't get her to spend time with me with that attitude._

John was determined to find out what went wrong…later. He locked all the doors first then he got off the car himself, seeing Torrie waiting for him by the front door.

"Um…John?"

John squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of the Door 314 Man's voice behind him and opened them again as he turned around slowly to face him. "Matthew."

Torrie's eyes were bunched at the sight of the stranger facing off John a few feet away from the front door, but got more confused when John named the Door 314 Man "Matthew." She was sure she heard that name before…

Then the blonde mentally slapped herself. _Oh my God…why didn't I notice?_

Door 314 Man was actually John's estranged brother Matthew.

Torrie heard the horrible story from Dawn and Eddie a million times now. A college drop-out being a drug user and after impregnating a prostitute, Matthew Cena turned over a new leaf and faced a lot of odd jobs to raise his 2-year-old son Lucas all by himself while John obviously helps him by giving half of his salary sometimes whenever he gets fired. Sure, she sees him around the house sometimes, but Torrie didn't even know that he and John were related. They didn't even _look_ alike.

"Let me guess…what do you need this time?" John queried as he wiped the hood of his car.

"I'm so sorry to bother you, John," Matthew said sheepishly. "But Lucas is terribly sick. I've been going in and out if I could take him to the hospital right now for a check up. Could you lend me some money, please?"

"Aren't you working? Where's your job, anyway?"

"At the department store. But their pay's not enough."

John sighed. "What a waste. If you had just finished your logical engineering course you would have gone places."

"I know. But I…I have him to think about."

John sighed again before taking out his wallet. "All right. I'll help."

Taking about two thousand dollars out, John handed it to his brother. Torrie noticed that Matthew looked at it like it was some kind of prize.

"Thank you, John," Matthew said, his voice above a whisper. "Another thing, can I borrow your car because—''

"No." John answered quickly.

"But my kid's shivering everytime I use the bike—''

John handed him another hundred dollars. "Just take a cab and go."

If Matthew's face had brightened a while ago, now it looked forlorn. "Oh…uh, thanks anyway."

Torrie felt as her heart would break, sharing Matthew's pain as he passed by her straight to the front door inside, running up the stairs up to his room like a young boy being slapped by his own father while John continued to wipe his car. Here Matthew was, jobless and trying to take care of a child he never wanted.

And John acted as if he didn't care. This was his nephew that they're talking about and he's just obsessed in getting his car cleaned.

Then Torrie couldn't contain her anger anymore. She marched straight up to John. "John, let's talk."

John froze, threw off his rag in the dirt, and gave her a rather bored look. "About what? This had better be good."

But his dismissal made Torrie angrier. "Why are you like that? Why do you love your car more than your family?"

The question made John gulp. He laughed nervously. "Th-that's not true…"

"It is true!" Torrie insisted. "I can see the way you treat your parents, and now your own brother. It's just a stupid car!"

"Stupid?"

A pause.

"_Stupid_, you say?" John repeated though gritted teeth. He took a step forward as the color in his cheeks risen, flushing them a deep, angry red. "If for you it's stupid, it isn't for me!"

Torrie stared at him, stunned, unable to answer. John was _really_ furious.

"Torrie, this is the only car—the _only_ thing that loves me," he went on loudly. "Something that gives and doesn't ask for anything in return. People around me have no consideration here when it comes to me whatsoever!"

He made so much sense that Torrie's anger was replaced with sympathy. "John, I…I didn't mean—''

John looked away, obviously trying to hide the emotion he felt. "I'm just…I'm just so sick and tired of giving, Torrie. Of sacrificing," he said flatly, his voice thawing down and his cheeks returning to its normal color. "And here I thought…_you'd_ be the only one to understand."

That was the last thought Torrie had expected. Another look at John's clear blue eyes and she realized he was _serious_. She felt so touched and ashamed of herself at the same time that her own emotions were so wild and confused, making tears suddenly well up her green eyes.

"I-I'm so sorry… I really didn't know…" she mumbled, holding back tears. Her eyes went down to her sneakers.

Silence reigned for a long time.

"Don't be," John said gently.

Torrie looked up to see John's face, his expression so full of concern; something she hasn't seen before. She was ultimately shocked, but she managed not to show it.

All of a sudden John lifted his hand unconsciously towards her as if to touch her face. Torrie held her breath, trying not to make a single move as John's hand tentatively stopped an inch, and finally, touchdowned against her cheek, caressing it tenderly. Torrie shuddered against his touch, her knees going jelly and her heart racing again from the warmth of his hand.

Unknown to her, John was having the same problem. He continued to touch her to soothe her, careful not to do anything stupid that she might hate. His feeling heightened as Torrie's palm slid against the back of his hand that touched her face. John heard his own heartbeat thumping loudly in his chest that it deafened him, his stomach fluttering with so many butterflies it made him so jittery and weak.

Then their eyes met, an unspoken challenge, seeming like something had just clicked between the two of them. A blush suddenly stained Torrie's face, and John felt lucky for the hat he wore. They stood like that for a couple of minutes.

Suddenly John dropped his hand on his side. "Excuse me…"

As if nothing had happened, John brushed past Torrie in quick paces to the boarding house, almost bumping her shoulder in the process, opened the front door widely and sprinted hastily up the stairs. Then a door slammed.

Torrie just stood there and watched the direction where John had gone, flabbergasted. Then she finally remembered the cause of this mess as she clamped her hands over her mouth. "Oh no! What have I done?"

But deep down in her gut it was the effect that bothered her. Never did a guy like John Cena, a guy devoid of dating and relationships, shown that kind of affection to anyone else he knew. She'd been so swept away by his sudden change that she barely thought of anything else, and when she thought of what had just happened between the two of them, the sensation still felt so real that she still felt the warmth of his fingers on her skin. The recollection made her blush again.

She turned around to John's Beetle now, bewildered. Was this guy always this up and down? And if he claims he obviously couldn't get along with her, why had he made a special point of comforting her like _that_ when everything was _her_ fault?

Torrie leaned against the old vintage car for support, running her hands over the shiny red paint. Only one thought remained in her head now.

_What was that all about?_

**(t.b.c.)**

**Don't forget to review!**

_4. You are so cute! - (Vous êtes si mignon!)_

5. Grumpy boy…good thing you're cute. - (Bonne chose grincheuse de garçon... vous êtes mignon.)

6. You're much cuter! - (Vous êtes beaucoup plus mignon!)


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